The Divine Realm floated far beyond the clouds, beyond the highest mountains, beyond even the furthest star mortals could see. It was a place without seasons, where light and shadow danced without end, and where beings who could turn oceans to steam with a thought roamed freely.
Most of them had little care for the fragile world far below. Mortals lived, mortals died — and the wheel turned without their touch. But now, the silence of their realm had been broken.
One of their strongest had been destroyed — killed — by a being they had thought beneath them. Not another god. Not a fellow immortal. Not even a hero of legend. A beastman.
In the hall of crystal and flame where they gathered, their voices rose in argument. Pillars of light towered around them, each one carved with the history of their kind. The air shimmered with power, each breath vibrating like a song.
> "We cannot ignore this," one said, their voice like the deep rumble of an avalanche. "If a mortal can slay one of us, what else is possible? What else has changed?"
> "It was an anomaly," another replied, their tone sharp as the edge of a blade. "This beastman was not normal. Something in him… was awakened. And that awakening—" their gaze shifted toward one figure — "was your doing."
The being they accused sat in silence, her form shifting like smoke and shadow — (???), the one who had awakened Aizen Arcime's power. She did not bow her head, nor deny it.
> "Yes," she said, her voice calm and certain. "I gave him what he needed. I would do it again. His existence will keep the balance far better than any of you caged in this hall."
From the far end of the table, the Dragon God leaned back in her throne of molten gold, idly eating from a plate of candied spirit fruit. Her hair shimmered in colors mortals didn't even have words for.
> "Balance? Hah," she said, biting into another piece. "You're all acting like frightened hatchlings. One of us dies and suddenly you want to chain the world tighter than ever. Let them live. Let them fight. Your problem, (???), is that you care about your little lion more than you're willing to admit."
(???) narrowed her eyes, but the Dragon God smirked and kept eating, unbothered.
> "You even let your own children roam the mortal world," (???) said flatly.
> "Of course," the Dragon God replied, licking her fingers. "If they can't survive out there, they don't deserve to be mine."
Their words drifted into deeper discussion. The central matter was clear: they could not afford another god's death. The unknown being they all served — an ancient will whose presence none dared describe — had given them one command: protect the world until it is ready. The problem was, none of them knew what it needed to be ready for.
Some spoke of strengthening mortal kingdoms, others of arming chosen champions. Some argued for total non-interference, fearing that touching the mortal world too much would break it before the coming calamity. In the end, they agreed only on one thing: no world-spanning war must erupt. The planet had to remain intact.
---
Aizen's Instinct
Far below, in the newly restored Dragon Kingdom, Aizen Arcime sat at the edge of his bed, staring into the dark. The sounds of the night — the faint rustle of wind through the banners, the distant splash of the palace fountain — did little to ease the knot in his chest.
He didn't know why, but something inside him whispered: Prepare.
He trusted that voice. It had saved him too many times to ignore. So the next morning, he gathered Amethyst, Lina, and Mikaela in the courtyard.
Amethyst, already skilled, was to master the blade. Aizen pushed him harder than ever, demanding speed, precision, and killing intent in every strike. Not just swinging — ending.
Lina, quick as a fox, trained to make her speed more than just running. She learned to vanish into motion, to step where her enemies didn't think she could be, to hit and be gone before they could blink.
Mikaela, the quiet mage, was given a different challenge: cut her incantations in half. Then in half again. To fire spells without the long chants most mages needed. To weave barriers and buffs instantly, and just as quickly cast crippling debuffs on enemies.
Buffs and curses alike slid off Aizen like water on stone. He was already brushing against godhood — mortal magic could no longer touch him unless he allowed it.
Their days became a rhythm.
Morning: drills until sweat soaked their clothes.
Noon: a brief meal prepared by the palace maids, filled with fresh bread, roasted meat, and fruits from the kingdom's lush orchards.
Afternoon: combat training — sparring with Aizen himself, facing monsters brought in from the wild, or working in pairs to test tactics.
Evening: a second meal, lighter but nourishing, then mental exercises — meditation, magical focus, and planning for possible battle scenarios.
It was exhausting. It was necessary.
---
The Rising Threat
The warning signs came slowly. First, fishing boats didn't return. Then entire river villages went silent. Then reports flooded in — things crawling from the sea, from beneath the very earth.
The distortions — rips between worlds — were opening more frequently now, belching out monsters by the dozens. Some swam through the black waters before clawing their way onto shore. Others tunneled up from deep below, dragging up the stench of old stone and death.
The Sky Continent, which floated over the largest ocean, was the first line of defense. Their soldiers — winged warriors with twin swords — struck from above, their blades flashing in sunlight. Each was strong enough to slay a mammoth alone. They had long been rivals to the Red, Dark, and Green Continents in strength, and their martial pride burned bright.
But even they knew the truth: peace was fragile. The Sky Continent barely tolerated the other powers. The only true voice for unity came from the Sand Continent, whose ruler sought peace after hearing whispers from the gods themselves — whispers of a calamity so great even the Divine would not intervene.
---
Night in the Palace
That night, Lyra's silky hair brushed against Aizen's cheek as she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
"Sleep," she murmured, and they settled into the warmth of their shared bed. Her breathing slowed, but Aizen's mind did not.
Sleep claimed him anyway — and with it, the dream.
---
The Dream of the Black Figure
The darkness was absolute. Then, slowly, a shape took form — tall, cloaked, shifting like shadow given flesh.
(???).
Aizen's voice was steady. "You're the one who awakened me."
"Yes," she said, the word curling like smoke. "And I have not yet told you my name. I will — in time. But not now, Mister Black Lion."
Her gaze seemed to pierce through him. "I once knew someone like you. A friend, long before mortals walked your lands. She was determined. Strong. Proud. A black lion — ancient beyond counting."
Aizen said nothing, but his chest tightened.
"She is gone now. Her soul… was taken. Sucked out, torn apart, burned to ash until nothing remained in all the dimensions. We will never see her again. The only way to remember is to look at the past — at the fragments, the pictures we took when the Divine still walked freely together. She was known among us. Feared. Respected. The last of her kind."
Her voice lowered. "You look like her descendant. But a male version. And I do not think you are from this dimension of worlds at all. I believe… when your soul left your old body, when it drifted toward the place of the dead, it was caught. Pulled into this realm along with three others. You were born anew here. A chance none of us understand."
Aizen's mouth opened, then closed again. The words refused to form.
"You will understand one day," (???) said, stepping back into the shadow. "But when you do, it will be at a cost."
The darkness swallowed her, and Aizen was left alone in the dream's silent void.
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(END of chapter 37)